


uglypretty

by Flightless_Bird



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Based on books, Depressed Will Graham, Drinking, Drugging, Drugs, Drunk Will, Enemies to Lovers, Other, Scars, Slight Hurt/Comfort, assorted illegal actions, mentions of the red dragon, post-Hannibal (Hannibal and Clarice’s escape)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 04:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightless_Bird/pseuds/Flightless_Bird
Summary: “You see a lot,” she remarked. She reached across the table and caught his hand, thumbed over the callouses on his palm. “I do too. But you feel more.”He huffed a laugh, an unbearably sad sound. “I feel everything.”In which Clarice and Hannibal have one last loose end to bring home.





	uglypretty

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to write this fic for so long now. It’s a fix it for the book series that I want so badly. If you’d prefer to read in the show universe, I suppose you could, but know that this is based wholly off events of the books and the characters appearances are different. I hope some fellow book will fans will want his happy ending in this too :3
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please leave a comment if you liked, I really appreciate your words :) 
> 
> Title inspired by Strange Birds, by Birdy

_I think of you often, my_

An accident of some sort, perhaps rain or a curious animal, had withered away the letter. It had arrived that way, a half-finished sentence staring up from the porch, regretful. Now, it sat in a drawer, tucked between the pages of an old book. Some would say it was left there intentionally to be forgotten, lost deep between other scraps of tattered paper. Sometimes, he even told himself that was the reason.

But he couldn't quite explain why he'd memorized the page number where it could be found.

Maybe he just wanted to know how it ended.

**XXX**

A crowded, loud bar in the sticky heat of Florida was honestly not her idea of a vacation. But sacrifices needed to be made, especially for an outing such as this, and so she'd made them. She'd tried not to stand out too much, donning shorts and a simple, white tank top. It was a far cry from some of her pressed fabric or printed silk. But she still found that eyes were drawn to the way her honeyed hair contrasted against the dark of her skin. She was unrecognizable from her past, but her new appearance still drew curiosity.

_Maybe I should've gone for something more natural_, she thought, looping a curl around her finger while she fiddled with her drink. _Can always change. Could shave my head next time_. A smile rose to her lips at that thought and she hid it behind the rim of her glass. Here she was, on one of the most important hunts of her life, and she was wondering idly about hair.

Then again, hunting had never been very difficult for Clarice.

_Right. Okay. Where is my wolf?_ Turning casually in her seat, she sipped from her glass as she scanned the bar. The amount of drunk men in dirty work t-shirts was overwhelming, cloaking the air with the smell of sweat and testosterone. Not every bar was brimming with this type, but _this_ hole of a place was begging them to stop in. But it was just the place one would want to go if one needed a crowd and a drink to drown in.

Ah, yes, there he was, drowning now. In the back, in one of the ratty booths, bottle in one hand on the table and eyes out the window. Clarice tilted her head, watching. Even with all of his efforts to sink under, he couldn't quite pull it off like the others here. His hair was longer and messier than it'd been in the pictures, still stuck up in the front though. He'd downgraded from slacks and shoulder holsters to a T-shirt, but instead of the hunting-logo mess of the others, it just looked worn, old. Everything about him looked worn, actually. His shoulders were hunched, body slack with what could've been exhaustion. She couldn't see it from this angle, but she knew one half of his face was a mess.

It was probably beautiful. Old pain etched into skin.Her favorite. Though she knew that if the dragon had lived afterward, her other wolf would have twisted his face far worse to return the favor.

He didn't much like people touching his things.

Unfolding her legs, she stood and carried her drink across the bar. It was high time they made themselves acquainted, she thought. Couldn't invite a guest to your home without at least making an attempt at conversation first.

He didn't look up as she approached the table. She smiled anyway. “Hi there. You here alone?”

Now he looked at her, not facing her fully, a guarded frown on his face. “Yeah.” He sounded like she'd imagined, but also not, ragged at the edges. “Me too,” she replied. “Do you mind if I keep you company for a bit?” She saw the expected rejection rising in his throat and leaned in closer. “There's a dick at the bar who won't leave me alone. The one in the grey shirt, staring at me? I don't wanna leave by myself and a friend is coming…. It would just be for a bit?” She gave him a pained, pleading expression and saw the give in his shoulders. He nodded. “Oh, great, thanks!”

She scooted into the seat across from him and rested her elbows on the tabletop. Sliding his bottle closer to himself, he turned his head with the pretense of looking back out the window. It hid the side of his face from her, giving her only a glimpse of raised scar tissue. Aware of herself, she didn't stare. “I really appreciate this,” she told him.

He made a noise that suggested he'd heard her and hinted at the words _no problem._

“I’m Risa,” she lied, not wanting to tip him off with her name. She knew, but she asked anyway. “What's your name?”

He glanced at her sideways, that same guarded expression returning.

“I'm just bored,” she shrugged. “And I don't really want that guy coming over… I won't talk if you really don't want to.”

Maybe out of politeness, maybe to scare her off, he faced her to say quietly, “my name’s Will.”

He'd given it to her willingly and she wanted to handle it with care. In the shoddy lighting, she could make out the twist of the scar, slashed up across his cheek. It hooked into his lip, pulling the corner of his mouth over, and nudged up under his eye. He'd been lucky not to lose it.

She could see that he was waiting for her to gawk, or even ask in horror what had happened to him. She reached across the table instead and held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Will.”

A flicker of surprise and then he shook her hand.

“So, I was ditched,” she began conversationally. “Why're you here all by yourself?”

“I just am. I'm not much of a people person.”

“I can relate to that. Not everyone deserves nearly as much attention as they get.”

“Mm.”

“…I'm sorry, but it seems like there's something else. Not everyone drinks in a bar full of people to get away from, well, people.” She tried to meet his gaze and softened her tone. “Are you okay?”

It took a bit to find his eyes, but when she did, they were a tired, yet striking blue. “I'm as okay as I can be,” he answered.

She held his gaze. “What're you drinking to forget? Did someone break your heart?”

“No,” he said, glancing down. His hand slipped off the table to touch the fabric of his shirt over his stomach. “Just forgetting myself.”

Tapping a little rhythm on the table, she offered a rueful smile. “Well. Right place for that too.” At the return of his eyes, she leaned in. “I can forget my own name just from stepping in and _smelling_ the place,” she muttered.

The side of his mouth turned up, hinting that his smiles had started from the scarred half before. It wasn't a full smile now, but she could see the ghost of it.

“You don't usually come to these places,” he said, and she thrummed at him initiating the continued conversation this time. He didn't ask it, because he'd seen it. She bet he wished that alcohol could've turned it off sometimes.

“No, I don't,” she agreed. “Something new, I guess.”

“Friend brought you here?”

“Yes. But then something came up, and he had to leave.”

Will’s brow furrowed. “You didn't go with him?”

“Well, we have a mutual friend we’re supposed to be seeing here tonight.” She raised her drink, looking at him over the glass. “I don't want to miss him.”

“That's a lot more dedication than I'd have,” he muttered.

“This helps,” she replied, finishing off her drink. “Another?”

It didn't take a very long time to get him sufficiently drunk. This was, after all, his main goal of being here in the first place, and if someone wanted to order bottled distraction for him, then he was going to take it. Clarice continued to talk while they drank, making sure to participate and act enough that he wouldn't notice that she was still relatively sober. She spoke of mindless things, pointed out facets of individuals that only they could see, and watched his mind work. Even with a steady alcohol intake, he didn't miss a thing. He found every detail, every untucked shirt and small glance that she spoke of to him. It was something else, really, and reminded her so of her dear one waiting in the car outside.

It only caught her off-guard a bit when, resting a chin heavily on his hand, Will mumbled to her, “you're getting me drunk.”

She cocked her head. “Yes. You don't really seem to mind.”

“No. Why would I? Came here for it.”

“You're rather eloquent for a drunk.”

“I know. Jus’ get tired. And clumsy as shit.”

“Not what you want?”

“I wanna shut it off. You know.” He waved a hand at the side of his head, a circling sort of gesture. “That.”

“You see a lot,” she remarked. She reached across the table and caught his hand, thumbed over the callouses on his palm. “I do too. But you feel more.”

He huffed a laugh, an unbearably sad sound. “I feel everything,” he slurred, gazing up at her with that tousled hair and too-blue eyes.

_Poor, broken wolf._ What he must have been. Even tripping over himself in grief, he was stunning. She could see now the reasons he was needed, hidden beneath, but still there. Rising from her seat, she rounded the table and took the place next to him. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, resting her hand on his shoulder. He hummed an acknowledgement, not rejecting her closeness or her touch. He also didn't reject it when she lifted her chin and rested her lips on his, for a moment.

Blinking at her, he looked down at their still-joined hands. “You kissed me,” he pointed out.

“I did,” she confirmed with a smile. “But you didn't kiss me.”

“I don't know you.”

“You still let me.” She brushed a hand over his hair, soothing, as the dark-haired man in the booth behind them stood.

He allowed her touch and even leaned into it, like a child seeking comfort. Her heart swelled. “Do I know you?” he asked, trying to look into her through the haze of drunkenness. “Feel like you know me.”

“You'll know me soon.”

“What does _that_ mean?” he asked. His eyelids were drooping now, his hand slackening in hers. The dark-haired man behind them was waiting a step away, back turned.

Clarice tipped Will’s chin up and placed another, chaste kiss on his forehead. “Don't worry,” she murmured. “You'll realize soon enough. I look forward to getting to know you more, Will Graham.”

“You know my—? What…?” Swaying in his seat, he let her support his weight and searched blearily for the last bottle. “Did you… you drugged me. What did you…?” It was the last coherent thing that made it out. Making a weak noise of protest, he slumped into her, head on her shoulder.

She stroked his back, even though he couldn't feel it, and listened to his breathing deepen. The dark-haired man was directly behind her now, facing them expectantly. “He took it well,” she told him, beginning to slip out of the booth. She kept Will’s head propped up with her hands, maneuvering him toward the edge.

“I'm not surprised,” the man replied, voice smooth and faintly accented. “He seemed to realize what was happening.”

“Even as a drunk, he's sharp,” she commented. “Help me carry him?”

“Of course.” He hooked his arms under Will’s and with Clarice’s help, they lifted him as easily as possible. He hung limply between them, head falling back onto her dark wolf’s chest. His eyes were closed, face slack with drugged peace. He looked like he belonged there. Any other patron would assume he was a drunk friend they were taking home.

And they were taking him home indeed.

She grinned at her companion. “Did you bring the handcuffs?” 

“Yes,” he replied, as he backed them toward the exit. “Knowing this one, we won't want his hands free when he comes to.”

“Well then, we should be set for the ride home. Shall we?”

He smiled at her, red-wine eyes catching the light in pinpricks of scarlet. “With pleasure, my starling.”


End file.
